My Story

My story begins in New Orleans, where the air shimmered with powdered sugar from café au lait-dipped beignets, and generations of my family measured love in slow-simmered roux and crispy, golden-fried seafood feasts.

 

My childhood was a sensory symphony - of standing on tiptoe at weathered kitchen counters, watching my grandmother's hands fold pecans into pralines still warm from the pot. Of great-aunts sliding trays of petits fours, their glazes catching light like stained-glass windows, while Mardi Gras king cakes blazed with purple, green, and gold sugar on our table. It was here, surrounded by these women and their edible heirlooms, that I learned food could be more than sustenance.

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I studied their hands - the way my grandmother could judge a cake's doneness by its scent, how my aunt Teddy's thumb knew the exact give of perfect bread. These skilled artisans taught me their quiet alchemy: how to coax magic from flour, how to transform the simple into the extraordinary.

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Through their tutelage, I became my family's "dessert person" - the keeper of recipes and rituals. And in that sacred role, I discovered baking's deepest truth: it's where golden butter, crystalline sugar, and generations of memories transform into something greater than the sum of their parts.

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That revelation is now Beurre & Bean - where every cake is a layered conversation between my grandmother's wooden spoon and my modern whisk, between French Quarter mornings and your celebration. It's my childhood, my lineage, personified in pastry.

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Because every cake I make is really just a love letter - to the women who taught me, to the city that flavored me, and to the magic that happens when tradition meets imagination in a bowl.

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​Whiskfully Yours,

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Ronnie | Beurre & Bean